


Blood Red Summer

by Rei (RoarOfTheEarth)



Series: Side Quests Unlocked [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Blood and Gore, F/M, Galahd (Final Fantasy XV), Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, The Fall of Galahd, Violence, from Reviere in Moonlight AU, kinda-sorta Galahdian culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoarOfTheEarth/pseuds/Rei
Summary: Tobul was a simple man with simple beginnings. He had his farm, he had his son, and he had his mate. He had everything a man could ever want. Then he heard the gunshots, the screaming, the smell of blood, and the taste of ash.





	Blood Red Summer

It was like a sea of gold outside his window. The breeze would roll waves through the wheat, make it dance. The sound of the stalks sliding across each other was like a gentle song. A soft whisper, a promise of a bountiful harvest.

In the distance, a fishing boat bobbed in the sea, its owner hauling in the days catch as the sun sank lower into the blue waters.

Galahd was a beautiful place. Rich, lush and full of life. Life both new and old, something he could see even now as he stared out across that open field to where his wife stood with their son cradled in her arms. Nuala seemed to feel his eyes on her, looking up from where she’d been peering down at that tiny, dark face. The laughter that filled her eyes was a balm to his existence. Their son was their world. Barely a few months old and already cherished by most of the village as all children were.

Children were revered, it was true, but leaving the island was looked down upon. Tobul had been one of the lucky ones who’d found his mate amongst the lush green landscape that was Galahd. Those who didn’t, sometimes left, and they never came back. Either they died after crossing that imaginary border into the world outside, or they found their matches and stayed away. None of them had ever tried to return to their homeland, probably because the elders didn’t seem to want them to.

The village elders were slowly dying out, however; leaving behind a newer council that was speaking of allowing those who wished to return to do so. There was still enough opposition that it wasn’t feasible yet, but in time, maybe a few more years. It would be nice to see old faces again, to see families reunited with loved ones who’d been brave enough to follow their hearts instead of tradition.

He wanted a future where his son didn’t have to worry about who he was matched with. Lucian or Galahdian. If the King could accept that his son’s soulmate was the Princess of Tenebrae, an Imperial territory; then Galahd should be able to accept that not all of its people would find their soulmates within the boundaries of the island.

“Thinking of starting the harvest tomorrow?” his wife asked him as she approached. She was soft and dark and carried herself with pride. She glowed when their son was in her arms and he often found himself loathe to take the boy from her grasp, but as she reached him he held out his arms for his son.

He smiled down at that sleeping face, still awed by what they had made together. “I think so,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so the boy didn’t wake. “I don’t want the stalks to start getting tough.”

Harvesting would take up a greater part of the week, but by the end of it, they would be rich in grain and coin once the shipment went out. Coin meant a future for his son. Tobul smiled at the thought, staring down at his boy. “I can’t wait until you’re old enough,” he murmured to the sleeping infant. “To work the fields with me, Cian.” The boy slept on and Tobul didn’t try to hide the air of adoration that surrounded him. 

“Let me put him to bed, Tobi,” Nuala laughed, taking the small child before heading to the other room and their son’s crib. He smiled as he watched her before turning to their room and bed. He needed an early start if he wanted to beat the sweltering summer heat that always simmered in the air.

* * *

The sun had yet to touch the sky with the first fingers of light. It was a hazy thought on the horizon, a smudge of something bright in the distance. Tobul had already finished half the first field by the time the first rays managed to streak across the sea and he paused from his work. Unfolding himself to bask in the early morning glow, he closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of fresh cut wheat and salted sea air. Once he was done he would rest, then he would take Nuala and Cian into the village proper. There had been a dress she’d been eyeing recently, a lovely thing that was the color of sea foam. Each month after their son had been born he’d lavished her with some gift, a show of gratitude that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to fully express.

She always laughed, kissed his cheek and wondered what he was going to do when she gave him another child.

Die a happy man, he supposed. And live life wondering how he could give her the moon from the very sky.

Doubling back over to resume his work, Tobul lifted his small scythe only to pause when a loud sound echoed from the village. Frowning, he glanced back towards the distant houses, slowly putting down his tool and standing back up straight when the sound happened again several more times. It was loud, and he could see others exiting their homes to investigate. He started out of the field carefully, his head tilted to the side.

“Tobul?” Nuala’s sleepy voice called him from the doorway. “What was that?”

He paused and smiled at his soulmate. “Go back inside, my love. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m going into the village to see.”

She nodded, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Be safe.” Then she retreated back inside their home, closing the door.

The popping sounds continued, getting louder and more frequent as he approached the village, in the distance, as the sun chased away the darkness in the sky, he could see a black plume of smoke. Something was on fire. Then the ground shook, quaking as an explosion ripped through the air. A fiery plume rose to meet the sky, sizzling and bright. The roar started then, even as another explosion happened further away. Then another, and another.

The screaming started after that. The first one was the shrill, high-pitched wail of a woman that ended abruptly, then chaos reigned.

They came in a wave of mechanical whirls and gunshots that sliced through the air. They mowed down trees in their way, killed wildlife as it passed by and burned anything that didn’t move. The smaller ones were nothing but plated metal, hydraulics and green faces. Their eyes glowed red, and there was not a hint of mercy. They were tall and moved in jerking motions that belayed their mechanical insides. He’d never understand how they worked, not these things. Not as they aimed their guns and shot at anything that moved. Men, women, _children_. He stood there in silent shock, staring as bodies dropped to the ground, red spreading across the dirt, soaking into the soil. A woman grabbed his arm, screamed at him to run before a bullet found her skull and blew half of it out like an overripe melon. She dropped like a sack of sand and Tobul turned to run.

Only there wasn’t anywhere to run.

The land burned. The glow of fire and the spread of smoke came from everywhere now. Somewhere to his right, in a house that was more fire than building, a child screamed. The mechanical soldiers emerging from the thick plumes like angels of death. Then the larger ones came. Huge hulking masses of metal that moved on two feet and carried guns as arms. They sprayed bullets and fire across the land, catching houses and foliage alight. The air became choked with ash, the screams that rang between his ears too loud.

Nuala.

He had to get to his wife and son.

Sweat rolled down his neck as he took off at a dead run across the village center, stepping over fallen bodies, running into those who were trying desperately to find another way out. Many were running to the sea, others were running back into the village. He had to stop as he rounded a corner, coming face to face with a mechanical soldier. The thing looked at him, with glowing red eyes and raised its gun. He punched it in its disgusting green face, watched the metal there bend. It popped off two rounds, one grazed his side, the other embedded itself in the dirt at his feet. Wrenching the gun free of the things hands, he returned the favor, the back of the thing's head exploding into a plume of sparks.

Turning, he started back down the path only to stumble and stop as something hot blazed through his chest, tearing at his heart and lungs. He tried to breathe, gasped for air and reached out blindly as the world tilted and spun. Heat skittered along his skin, boiling his bones and his knees hit the ground. Clawing at his throat, he choked. Ash burned his eyes, his nose. He tasted blood on the back of his tongue and screamed.

A pale face smudged in soot came into focus, cool hands holding his face, forcing him to stare at her. “Breathe,” she ordered. Those green eyes were terrified and he tried to breathe if only because she told him to. It hurt. Everything hurt. Then those eyes were looking away and he lost himself again, floundering in some dark abyss that didn’t want to let him go.

She shoved him none-too-gently, forcing him into a house that had already crumbled partly to the ground. She forced him into the corner, moving things to make a ‘cover’ of sorts before she wedged herself in beside him. On the other side of the wall, he could hear the footfalls of one of the larger machines. It rocked the earth and filled the air with a loud buzzing sound as it powered up its gun and mowed down more innocent lives.

Tobul stayed quiet if only so he could concentrate on living. He felt as if he were being torn apart from the inside out. An angry, howling ghost clawed at his chest, ripped at his skin and tore out his lungs. He tried to breathe, found he couldn’t and whimpered. Beside him, the woman pressed into his shoulder a little closer, grounding him with a touch to let him know he was still alive, still in the world no matter how chaotic it was. He wanted to look down, but was scared at what he would see. Or what he wouldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what would be better. Finding the bullet wound in his chest and knowing for sure he was dying. Or finding nothing, and knowing what that meant.

The screaming continued, but the blasts and gunfire moved further down the island. They refused to move, too scared that if they did they would be found. Tobul kept his head tilted backward, pressed against the brick wall while he concentrated on breathing in slowly through lungs that didn’t work. Focused on keeping his heart beating, even though it was nothing but a horrid, black hole in his chest.

Then he thought of his son and wept.

The woman beside him pressed closer, curled up into a small ball with her knees tucked to her chest. She didn’t speak, she didn’t try to comfort him; she just sat there. A steady presence in his crumbling world.

When there was nothing but the crackling of burning fires and the sounds of houses collapsing, she moved. Tobul didn’t follow, but she didn’t say anything; picking her way carefully out of the debris to look out of the door. He wondered for a moment if that was it, if she were going to leave him here to finish dying. He closed his eyes and willed himself to stop.

“We have to leave now,” a gentle voice said from somewhere in front of him. When he opened his eyes she was back, crouched in front of him and staring with those sad, scared green eyes. “I don’t think they will come back, but we can’t stay here. The buildings are collapsing.” When he just stared at her dully, she wet her lips. “Please.”

Tobul stared at her. He felt hollow. Empty. When he didn’t move right away, he saw the look of terror slowly building back up again in her eyes. Some deep part of his brain latched onto that look because it meant she needed someone, anyone to help her. He needed that to move, to process. To _think_.

When he moved, she grabbed his arm, clinging to it even as he stood. She stayed close, like a child would their parent as they moved out of the building and into the street. The sight of it hit him like a physical blow. The village was gone. Bodies were strewn across the ground, crushed under metal feet or eaten away by the spray of bullets. Others were charred husks, and others still were simply hunks of pink, bloody meat. The smell of burned skin and hair filled the air while even further away were the sounds of soft sobs coming from buildings.

“C’mon,” the woman whispered beside him, tugging him gently as she headed for the beach. Tobul followed wordlessly, his gaze searching the beaches as they neared them. There were others there, piled together in groups, huddled together for comfort. Some cried, others murmured amongst themselves, and some stayed quiet, tucked away against the rocky outcrops that surrounded the beaches, hiding.

Tobul found himself sitting on a strand of beach with his back pressed into a small rocky alcove, the woman with him tucking herself carefully into the spot beside him. They stayed quiet for a long time, listening to the sound of the ocean waves as they lapped at the sand.

“You’re bleeding.”

Her voice ripped him out of his thoughts, thoughts that lingered on the fading image of his wife holding their son. “It doesn’t matter, he murmured, despondent. He stared out across the sand, wishing a familiar dark face would appear, would run towards him…

“We’ll look,” that tiny voice said from beside him. “When it's safe, we’ll look.”

He wanted to tell her no, that there was no point; but looking down at that small face, those stressed green eyes and the way she pressed closer, desperately trying to ground herself so she didn’t fall apart. Tobul lowered his head to his knees and breathed in slow. “Okay.”

* * *

Her name was Luca. She was the blacksmith’s daughter. Tobul remembered talking to her a few times before. She was handy with jewelry and could repair just about anything. She’d also watched a bullet pierce the back of her father’s skull and exit out of his eye. She’d heard the sounds of her brother screaming as he burned alive.

She had nightmares when she tried to sleep.

Tobul just didn’t sleep.

He sat, vigilant and wary, watching the others around them. Some of them found hope, reunited with the ones they cared about. Others found their peace in the arms of the ocean, venturing out into the blue waters before disappearing into the foam.

On the third day, the fires finally smoldered to nothing but embers. They deemed it safe enough to walk amongst the rubble then.

They returned to her home first and found nothing but ashes, only the smithing anvil had survived. They gathered some of it from both places she knew her father and brother had lain and carried them to the wheat field Tobul had once tended in silence.

The field was black, burned to a crisp and his home was gone.

He found their bones beside the blackened brick of the well. Even in death she still clung to the smaller bones, holding them to her chest. Luca helped him dig the hole, placing both his wife and son’s remains in the same place, cradled together. He had no sheet to wrap them in, no shroud to protect their bones. Luca removed her jacket and placed it over them. He placed a stone at the end of the grave as a marker. He wasn’t sure why. He stared at it for a long time before joining Luca in the middle of the burnt field. From a nearby hill, she scattered the ashes she’d gathered and the two of them stared back out across the destroyed village, watching the last of the glowing embers as the sun started to set.

The ship didn’t arrive until the next morning. It was a large vessel and found what remained of Galahd huddled on the beach in the rocky alcoves of its once beautiful cliffs. Men, women, children. Covered in soot, hurt, bleeding and scared. The Lucians didn’t say anything, just helped them onto the boat, gave them water, food, and blankets.

He never left Luca’s side, keeping her as close as possible throughout the ride across the sea. A woman died shortly after they started across the water. The Lucians reacted too slowly and Tobul watched in sullen silence as the woman’s mate allowed herself to be taken by the sea, their rescuers standing at the railing.

When they reached the Insomnian port, they were offloaded into cars and taken to the hospital. They tried to separate Tobul and Luca once. When the two fought back, the doctors backed off and allowed them to stay together if only to keep them calm. In this new land, this area beyond their home; Tobul was terrified he’d lose the last thing that was possibly keeping him sane. Luca needed someone, and until she found what she needed, he clung to the attachment if only to keep himself afloat.

It was selfish, but he had nothing else except the slowly building fire that was in the pit of his stomach. A wave of anger towards the people who’d taken his world from him.

The King of Lucis addressed them several weeks later, having given them time to grieve and heal. His voice was solemn, his eyes reflecting the regret he felt. There were those amongst the gathering that threw the blame of the attack at his feet, demanded retribution. Demanded _war_.

A war the King couldn’t afford.

They’d gathered in the Galahdian Quarter after that, cursing and angry. The community as a whole wanted blood, but they lacked the strength, weapons and the means to do so.

“Let him use us,” Tobul said over to the murmured voices, bringing silence to the room as a sea of eyes turned to look at him. He stood so he was taller than those seated. “We can’t do this on our own, not as we are now. Let us go back to the King, let us ask this of him. If he feels responsible for the fall of our home, perhaps he will grant us this.” Murmurs rose around him and he felt Luca hook her fingers into the back of his jacket, a quiet show of support. “We could get stronger, fight back this time.” He clenched his jaw and bared his teeth in an angry, silent snarl. “I buried my mate's remains while she still clung to our son’s bones. My soul yearns to be with hers, but I can’t rest. Not while the one that ordered the attack still lives.” Because the King had given them a _name_.

Caligo Ulldor.

The man charged with the occupation of Lucian territories.

“Then we fight,” a voice rose up from the gathered crowd. “And what? Die?”

“We fight,” he murmured where he stood. “And win back our home.”

The whispers grew steadily louder at that before a carol of ‘aye’s filled the room. Beside him, Luca pushed a little closer, her fingers tightening in the cloth on his back.

* * *

The King gave them access to his magic, to the supplies of the Citadel, to the magical space known simply as the ‘armiger’, and a title.

Kingsglaive.

In return, they would fight his war, die for Lucis' people, and free it from the slowly encroaching Imperial forces. They would take back the blood-soaked islands of their home by force, find revenge in the killing of the Empire’s armies, and perhaps bring peace back to their home.

“Are you sure about this, Tobi?” Luca murmured as he stood in front of a mirror, frowning at himself in it. He could see her watching him in the reflection. “I know we’ve been through all the drills and we’ve been training for months on end, but do you think we’re ready to go out into the field like this?”

He turned and gave her the small smile he allowed himself to give around her. “It’s what we’re here to do, remember? We have a war to win, then we can go home.” He walked forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Besides, the Commander has already said you’re one of his best medics to come out of the Galahdian group so far. Not to mention, we’re going with several other senior Glaives, _and_ I hear tell that The Immortal is the one leading this little excursion.”

She didn’t relax, just frowned more. Luca didn’t like fighting, Tobul knew that, but she was a good healer. They were probably going to need that.

“Luca.” Her eyes turned up to him again, watching him patiently. “It’ll be okay,” he promised. “I’ll protect you.”

She snorted but smiled despite it. “And who’s going to protect you, eh?”

“You’ve done a pretty good job of it so far.”

Another snort, but her smile stayed. “For hearth and home?”

It was Tobul’s turn to snort this time. It was a stupid catchphrase someone had come up with on the spot, giving them something to cling to. A battle cry of sorts. He wasn’t even sure why. Their home was miles away and nothing but ash and destroyed dreams. But he supposed it was what they were fighting for now. The only thing they had left. A dream of land lush with life and crystal blue waters. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“For hearth and home.”

* * *

When Tobul first met Cor Leonis, the famous ‘Immortal’, he didn’t like him. His face was nothing but harsh lines, his eyes were cold and calculating, he always wore a frown. And he frowned. A lot. He especially frowned at Tredd Furia and Luche Lazarus, two of the senior members of their group. The other was Pelna Khara. Tobul rather liked the last man, a Galahdian with an easy smile and a nice laugh, one he shared easily with Cor; which Tobul couldn’t understand.

Or he couldn’t until Cor’s phone rang and the man spoke.

All those hard lines disappeared, his voice softened slightly and despite the permanent frown that seemed to hold the corners of his mouth down, Leonis actually smiled.

His soulmate, Tobul learned after the call was over; was Galahdian. One of the ones who’d left before, banished from the islands simply because he wanted to find the other half of himself, to continue the search across the sea. Nyx Ulric, a name and face he'd known for years now thanks to a little bar in the Galahdian Quarter.

Khara was fussing at the man as if they were lifelong friends, and maybe they were.

“It’s practically a proposal,” Pelna was telling the Lucian, laughing. “Tell ‘em, Tobi.” And then those dark brown eyes were looking at him expectantly and Tobul wasn’t all that sure what he was supposed to do. He blinked, glanced at Luca who hid a smile behind her hand and looked away.

Traitor.

“Ah, it is rather common, yes.” He paused, hating how his own voice sounded in the confines of the van. His accent was still thick compared to someone like Pelna who’d seemed to have beaten his away with a stick over the years of living in Insomnia.

“Galahdians are weird,” Cor Leonis stated dryly and Tobul found himself laughing because of course Galahd and its traditions were weird. So were Lucians, with their flowers and their gift giving.

“I can’t wait,” Pelna stated with a grin so wide it had to hurt. “To teach you all the best swears. Ulric will practically crawl in your pants.”

Tobul bit his lower lip to hold back a laugh when Leonis shot the other Galahdian a frosty glare. “I don’t need your help with that,” he said icily, looking down his nose at Pelna.

The other man’s smile was slow and sly.

Tobul decided then, that he liked this group very much.

* * *

Fate was not kind.

Fate led them along on strings.

Fate led them to their destination, led them into those bases.

Fate brought General Glauca to their doorstep.

Tobul hurled fire, ice and lightning alike at anything that came near, curling his lips in an angry snarl. Luca stayed close, her back pressed against his while he hurled fire into the face of another trooper, watching if fall with some sick satisfaction.

It wouldn’t bring his wife or his son back, but the knot of anger that sat deep in his gut still burned for vengeance. If he killed enough of them, maybe at least her spirit could rest until he joined her in the Beyond. He turned, just in time to spot the trooper aiming its gun at him. He braced for the shot, then smirked faintly when it bounced off a blue shield that formed.

“We need to make our way to the Marshal,” Luca hissed as the trooper exploded into fire. “He’s going to need back up.”

He did, Tobul decided as he looked across the field of rocks towards where Cor fought the Imperial General. Cor was fast, but his blows didn’t seem to cause any damage when he hit. Even the Marshal seemed bewildered and a bit thrown off. They also hadn’t expected to find Glauca there in between the checkpoint and whatever base lay hidden further into the region. Tobul watched as Cor hit the ground hard and moved.

Luca was small and fast, Tobul thought proudly as she darted off, zipping across the ground as the General approached Cor, sword raised. He followed her, pausing only for a step to take out a trooper aiming a gun at her.

Fate was not kind.

Fate led them along on strings.

The ground blazed green with healing light while blue filled the air. Tobul moved closer, intending to grab them both and warp them out of there. He saw the sword come down. He’d expected the protection spell to deflect at least one blow.

It shattered on impact, and the metal of the blade sliced into meat and bone with little care. Luca had enough time to look surprised, confused. Even as the magic under her feet dissipated into the air and she crumbled to the ground.

His blood curdled in his veins.

He screamed.

Because he was dying all over again in the middle of a street in Galahd feeling the ghost of a bullet rip through his chest and tear out his lungs. Because the one thing that had saved him was gone and there wasn’t anyone there to keep all the rage he’d been choking down in check.

He hurled himself at the liquid armor, wrapped his arms around it under the chin and pulled backward. Glauca’s head snapped back, but it wasn’t enough, because Glauca was _laughing_ and all he could see was red.

Magic, the King’s magic flowed through his veins. It sparked, it burned, it froze. It was always there, simmering under his skin until he released it. He’d practiced, hoarding as much of the energy as he could, then releasing it all at once. It hurt. The last time he’d done it he’d been bedridden for days.

If he did it now, he was dead.

But his life was worth it if it gave Cor even the slightest chance. If it meant someone… _anyone_...

For Luca.  
For Nuala.  
For Cian.

He went off like a bomb, all that magical energy going off at once. Ice froze the ground, fire licked at the armor and lightning skittered and bounced, striking whenever it could. He let every last drop of it bleed out of his skin and didn’t flinch when he felt the gloved hand circle his throat and squeeze. Or when his airway closed and he felt his neck crack.

He didn’t flinch.  
He just snarled and cursed.  
And died.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

Note: So when I ended this, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to give it a ‘happy ending’ or not, since I’m not really known for making things end happily (never have been). When I asked about it, I was told I should give it a shot. So I tried.

* * *

 

 

 

He remembered what it was like to be alive. He remembered the fields of wheat, his wife’s hand in his, the sound of their son’s gentle babbles. He remembered when Galahd burned, and how Luca had saved him in more ways than one.

He remembered the feel of the sun on his skin, the wind in his hair, how he’d felt sitting around a campfire at night with Pelna teaching Cor Leonis Galahdian slang and curses, the laughter when he’d pronounced them wrong and asked them to repeat themselves.

He remembered love, laughter, hope. He remembered pain, sadness, exhaustion.

Most of all he remembered the itch of hate that had burrowed deep in his bones.

He remembered what it was like to be _alive_.

 

He wasn’t alive.  
Everything felt wrong, nothing moved as it should. His limbs weren’t his own. He felt disjointed. He tried to speak, tried to scream, but he had no mouth. He had no voice, no lungs. He stared through red-hazed eyes, through a mask that wasn’t his face and stared out at the exhausted faces of men and women he knew.

He tried to scream but instead raised his gun like the rest of them, those standing on either side of him. All metal and wire. He wondered if they were screaming too as he opened fire on the Kingsglaive, watched his bullets punch holes into leather, into flesh. Watched as the same men and women he’d fought with in the past now fought against him, breaking down into shattered light particles to zip across the distance and strike.

Weight landed on his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. His gun skittered off to the side and he looked up at the man who’s kukri was buried deep within his mechanical chest and wondered. Wondered how he could thank him for ending this new hell he’d found himself in.

He reached up, his movement’s jerky as sparks fired off from his wiring. He wrapped his fingers around an exhausted Nyx Ulric’s throat, and exploded.

 

 

* * *

But then I thought “fuck that” and wrote that instead. <3


End file.
